


Salt and Silk

by astro_jen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Mythical Beings & Creatures, References to War, Selkie AU, Selkies, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Romance, indulging my love for the sea :), scot’s mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-09-26 00:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astro_jen/pseuds/astro_jen
Summary: A quiet life of solitude and the sea was all Shiro wanted after being discharged from the army. He spends his time trying not to think about his past, and maintaining a secluded lighthouse. The only company he wants and needs is that of his dog, and occasionally his best friend from town. But then a mysterious man appears, unconscious and alone on the shore. Keith is just a selkie with a crush and too much time on his hands, until he gets too close to the strange silver-haired stranger. Shiro insists that Keith stay whilst his leg heals, forcing the two to confront how far they’re willing to go to be together.





	1. the storm

**Author's Note:**

> a recent trip to the beach had me thinking about selkies and of course, sheith. so now this is a thing. enjoy!

A low hum from the radio informed him that a storm was due. Nothing out of the ordinary for the chronically dreary coast. But it did mean that he would need to reel in his dingy. So he set off down the long spiral staircase and headed for the makeshift port. The sky was completely obscured by thick angry clouds, confirming the likelihood of a storm. Not only was the sky growing dark and threatening, but the waves had become a wild and murky mirror in all directions. But the grey had never really bothered Shiro. Maybe at first the starkly monochromatic sea and sky that surrounded him caused him pause. But now it’s just another fact of life. There’s no way Shiro would’ve survived this long had he not been able to adapt to every situation and environment thrown at him. Considering his past; once a normal kid like any other, only to grow into a high-ranking fighter pilot, his current circumstances were… stable. General Iverson had thought that he had gone insane when Shiro explained his plans for “retirement”. He couldn’t fathom that Shiro, whilst discharged from active service, would decide to leave the army altogether and take up a solitary post as a lighthouse attendant in the middle of nowhere.

“Shirogane, I’m not saying this as your superior—but as your friend,” his words were slow and restrained, “have you lost your goddam mind?” Shiro had simply sighed and averted his gaze. “I know, officially, you have to retire. But you’re still young, you’re only twenty-four for fucks sake! Christ, you’re one of our best. No matter how much of you is left.”

That was just it. Shiro was one of their best. Even after the accident and losing his arm, he still could’ve soared through the ranks. But instead he decided to be here. A small fishing town by the coast of nowhere significant, living completely alone on an outcropping of rock. All he had to do was maintain the lighthouse and occasionally radio ships. It was a solitary job, that’s why he had chosen it. The lighthouse he had come to think of as home, was technically accessible by land. But for those who were not adept rock climbers, taking a boat to shore was much easier.

With the dingy safely tied, Shiro took a long breath and prepared himself for a night by the radio. Any ships would have to take extra care not to be pulled too close to the rocky shore. As he turned to head back inside, he caught a glimpse of something moving by the water. Something big. He let out a whistle and seconds later, a large dog came running excitedly towards him. “Hey Kosmo, not much of a guard dog are ya?” Shiro knelt down to rub the dog’s ears affectionately, “if that wasn’t you, then what was it…” He eyed the shore suspiciously before heading inside.

  
***

  
The early autumn sun was already beginning to set when Shiro tossed another log onto the fire. Kosmo had curled up beside it, clearly unbothered by the ash he was collecting on his inky fur. Thunder was beginning to make its presence known, occasionally breaking through the torrential rain. The radio started chattering on the kitchen bench where Shiro’s dinner sat.

“_Silver Fox, do you copy? This is_—”

“Matt, what can I do for ya,” Shiro sighed into the receiver.

“_Well, you’re no fun tonight_…” the static did nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice. “_If you would be so kind, I could use some pressure readings from your end_.”

“Gotcha, one minute,” Shiro stuffed a spoonful of mashed potato in his mouth before leaning over to see the barometer by the window. “Right, we got about nine hundred—”

Kosmo’s loud barking interrupted. He had abandoned his spot by the fire and was instead pacing agitatedly by the door. He let out a low growl before turning to his owner. Shiro rubbed his forehead, “nine hundred and seventy eight millibars, Matt, I gotta go.” He flicked off the receiver and strode over to Kosmo.

“What’s up buddy? Thunder making you uneasy?” Shiro reached out to stroke the dog, only for Kosmo to step back and bark at him and then the door. “Not thunder then…” he hummed to himself.

Deciding that it couldn’t hurt to check, Shiro yanked on his raincoat and boots, clutching a flashlight between his teeth. The second he opened the door, the sea spray clung to his cheeks. He braced the wind, scanning the front yard with the light. Nothing. He furrowed his brows in concentration, nothing looked or sounded strange. But then the door blew wide open before Shiro could retreat inside, and Kosmo bolted out and past him.

“Hey! Kosmo! Get back here!” Shiro yelled through the rain whilst making steps towards the rocky shore where the dog had stopped. As soon as he approached, he saw it. He saw the body strewn painfully across the rocks. Dark hair spilled over paled sallow skin that positively glistened.

Panic rushed through Shiro. The body was unresponsive, but a touch to his ribs confirmed that he was breathing. “Hey, can you hear me? I need you to wake up…” Shiro gently held the man’s face as he maintained a precarious grip on the rocks. Of course he was unconscious, and… naked? He shook himself, there was no time for any embarrassment. His mind drifted back to his army training. Shiro knew that he needed to lift the man inside. And whilst he had quite proudly maintained his lean physique, he was still missing an arm. He swore under his breath and crouched down, praying that his prosthetic would hold out. With a grunt, Shiro was able to haul the man’s body over one shoulder. Kosmo matched his struggling pace as they made their way inside.

After placing the man carefully on the couch, Shiro tore off his rain clothes and ran to his first aid box. He glanced towards the very naked body again, and then grabbed a blanket. He knelt beside to couch and started right away. The pulse was slow but present, and he appeared to be breathing okay. His skin felt strange under Shiro’s touch as he cleaned his cuts. He couldn’t discern why. It looked normal enough, but it felt different, somehow.

The body began to stir as Shiro affixed a final dressing. Before could react, a hand grabbed his arm. Their eyes met. The man’s were deep, impossibly dark and heavy lidded. Shiro was breathless. As quickly as it happened, he drifted out of consciousness again, his hand limp on Shiro’s.

Shiro immediately sprung up and grabbed the radio. He need to call someone. He needed help. But what would he say? Some strange naked man washed up on my supposedly inaccessible lighthouse and… how _did _he get there? He straightened his back and glanced behind his shoulder to the sleeping figure on the couch. Shiro couldn’t remember seeing a boat, or rather, any boat wreckage. How could he have possibly gotten here? And why wasn’t he wearing any goddam clothes! He marched out the door and towards the shore where the man was found. There was no torn wood or engine parts or anything. Except for a thick lump of what appeared to be, what Shiro could only guess in the poor lighting, a diving suit? A very thick diving suit. So the man…swam there. That was impossible. There’s no way. Shiro let out a frustrated grown and resolved to toss the diving suit into his boat hut. He needed a drink.

***

This particular predicament, like most of Keith’s woes in life, could be blamed on Lance. If it weren’t for him dragging Keith and Hunk out of the water and to a human’s pub, then he’d be perfectly fine right now. Maybe a little bored and restless. But fine nonetheless. He sure as hell wouldn’t find himself practically obsessed with some random man.

“Okay, just hear me out— Land Livers sure know how to, well, live!” Lance had begged. Hunk didn’t require much convincing, and they knew better than to even ask Allura. It wasn’t Keith’s first time on land. But it was his first time in a pub. Only minutes in, and he was struck. All it took was one glance at the silver-haired stranger, and an echo of his laugh reverberating through Keith’s bones. And he was a goner. Initially, he put the strange fascination down to the alcohol. But then his curiosity grew. He found himself tormented at night when he should be sleeping. Why hadn’t Keith just gone up and said something to him? He was driving himself insane.

And then, he really must’ve gone mad—because he saw him again. On the water, leisurely driving his boat along the coast. It wasn’t stalking, Keith told himself as he swam behind the man, it was just consequence of boredom. That was when he discovered two fatal facts. One: the strange man lives close by, in the lighthouse. And two: Keith really needed to get a life.

“I think it’s sweet, you’re pining!” Allura cooed once Keith confessed his new fixation. Of course, he omitted the part about his mystery crush being a _human_. “Who is he? Do I know him?”

“Nope. You’re right. It’s stalking.” Was all Hunk had to say.

But none of it put off Keith. First, he had began to make deliberate detours past the lighthouse. Then he dropped the ruse of coincidence and began to lurk along the shore. The small patch of flat land was nestled in the base of a cliff. The lighthouse stood tall and lean, intermittently grazing the sea with its beam. He wouldn’t leave the water, he wasn’t insane. Allura had warned him of humans. They’ll steal your skin and keep you trapped on land, as if you’re their pet. They’re all the same. But, he just couldn’t match that description to the kind man in front of him, gently stroking his pet’s ears with the softest smile.

He knew it was getting late. He knew that a storm was due. He could feel the ocean around him stirring in preparation. But still, he clung to the rocks, his torso just leaving the water. He needed a closer look. Just this once, a deeper glimpse into this man’s life. He had learned very little from simply spying on him from the safety of the water. Maybe then Keith would know why he plagues his thoughts. Then he could move on. So he took a risk. Compared to his usual stunts, it wasn’t a big one. He slipped out of his sea skin and stashed it beside the shore as he took tentative steps towards the window. The grass was a fresh sensation bellow his bare feet. And the wind was already wicking away the moisture in his skin. He took a deep breath and crouched by the window, his back sliding against the battered wooden door. From one quick stolen glance, he saw the living room. A modest yet cosy area, with exposed brick walls and piles of blankets by a glowing fire. Another shot delivered the sight of Keith’s stranger, sitting by a wooden worktop, talking to some box. His pulse quickened in his throat at the sight of him. He was softer there, relaxed and uninhibited. Soon Keith’s wonder turned sour. Shame churned in his gut. This was wrong. Despite knowing better, he dared one last glance inside. The animal by the fire caught his gaze and immediately jumped up. Keith ran. Without thinking he, prepared himself to dive back into the ocean, even without his skin. He could come back for it if needed. But something went wrong with his footing. He must’ve slipped, because all he was greeted with was blackness.


	2. the calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~exposition~

The merciless chill of morning awoke Shiro. He stretched his muscles as far as he could from his position on the well worn couch. In that hazy instant, he almost forgot about his house guest, sleeping soundly on the bed. The lighthouse only had two floors, a wide open space at the bottom, and a small control room at the very top. So Shiro resolved to create the illusion of privacy by draping a curtain around his bed to corner off the ‘bedroom’. He hadn’t bothered to close it last night, exhausted and frazzled. So he could plainly see the strange man dozing in a ball of blankets, with Kosmo settled at his feet. It was a bizarrely peaceful image, one that betrayed the circumstances.

Wiping sleep from his tired eyes, Shiro shuffled over to the kitchen area and started a pot of coffee. The rain had let up, but the wind continued to whistle violently, causing the waves to arch much higher than normal. No one would come here today, even if he did call for help. He briefly contemplated pouring two cups, but then the figure in his bed began to stir. Shiro’s heartbeat quickened as he took a long sip of his drink, unbothered by how it burned his throat.

The man bolted up rapidly, flinging the covers to the side. Then he quickly crumbled with a groan of pain. Kosmo yelped as he retreated towards his owner.

“Hey! Easy now,” Shiro darted over to him. “You’re injured.” He pursed his lips as the man entangled himself in the covers, avoiding Shiro’s eyes.

After what felt like eternity, he finally spoke, his voice ragged and weak. “Wh-what?” He raised his gaze to meet Shiro’s. His eyes wide and fearful. A pang of sympathy hit Shiro, he considered how frightening this must be.

“My name is Shiro, I found you unconscious on the shore outside last night... it’s okay, you’re safe here.” He tried his best to keep his tone calm.

“Shiro,” the man breathed, staring at the ceiling. “I’m Keith.”

“Keith,” Shiro smiled, feeling warmth despite the absurdity of the situation. “We need to take a look at your foot, let me get you something to eat first.” He strode over to the kitchen with a newfound vigour. Keith let him prepare the food in silence.

Somehow, Shiro was able to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, keeping the panic sequestered away for later. Right now he was needed. He delivered Keith a plate of bacon and toast with a glass of water, and tossed a streak for Kosmo. Keith eyed the plate suspiciously for a long moment before beginning to stab it curiously with his fork.

In a bid to start some kind of conversation, so that he wasn’t just watching Keith eat, Shiro cleared his throat. “So...do you remember anything? About how you got here?”

In response, Keith froze, staring at the floor. “No.” He continued to poke at the food.

“Oh, okay... maybe we should get you checked out at the doctors, once the sea dies down-“

“No!” Keith interrupted, almost choking on his food, “no, no doctors. I’m fine.” Shiro stared at him, unable to formulate a response. After a breath, Keith coughed out a “thank you” as if that offered any explanation.

“Okay, no doctors. Got it.” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose in resignation, the realisation of what he’d gotten himself into started to dawn on him.

“Uh, I’m ... wearing clothes?” Keith awkwardly glanced up at Shiro.

He was. Shiro remembered his debate over whether it was appropriate or not to dress an unconscious stranger. And determining that he would freeze if he left him naked. So Keith sat drowned in one of Shiro’s jumpers and flannel pyjama trousers. The trousers were a gift from Shiro’s mom in one of his many care packages he received. Thank god for the draw string waist.

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. It gets quite chilly in here.”

Keith nodded solemnly, setting aside his empty plate and downing the glass of water. Shiro’s eyes reflexively traced the movement of his adam’s apple as he chugged the drink. He realised too late that he’d been staring, a flush began to grow on his cheeks. “Your foot?” He coughed. Keith nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off of Shiro. He had a curious face that Shiro felt some inexplicable need to study. The mess of walnut hair grazed over two wide and untrusting eyes. Shiro frowned at the angry gash on the man’s cheek, most definitely another injury from whatever happened last night. “Come over to the sofa and I’ll take a look at it.”

Shiro stood and offered his hand out. Keith took a long look at it before reluctantly accepting the assistance. Somehow, shuffling with Keith leaning against was a lot more difficult than carrying him in last night. It was probably down the adrenaline and the severity of the situation alerting Shiro’s survival skills. Once Keith was lying gingerly on the couch, Shiro realised that last night was the first time he’d felt that familiar pressure in a long time.

“Okay…” Shiro hummed as he kneeled beside Keith, who was pointedly keeping his gaze to the ceiling. He examined the dark and angry bruise that marred the pale skin of the foot before him. Keith hissed under his breath when Shiro touched it. He wrapped it gently as he could in some gauze, taking a lot of extra time and care than he used to. Shiro had done this countless times, to himself, and to his fellow soldiers in the aftermath of a battle. What seemed like a lifetime ago, before he had become enamoured with flight and danger, Shiro had simply longed to be a doctor. Caring for people had suited him.

“I’m no expert,” Shiro coughed through the silence, “but I think it’s only a sprain.”

Keith’s expression didn’t falter. His head was cocked to the side in confusion.

Sensing the need to elaborate, Shiro continued. “It should heal soon… we’ll just have to keep an eye on it.” Keith nodded slowly in return. “What about your head? Does it hurt?”

“No.” Keith spoke.

“Okay… well let me just dress that cut on your cheek then,” Shiro mostly spoke to himself as he rifled through the first aid box.

  
***

Keith brought his fingers to his face. Surely enough he was met with a tender area that had already begun to scab over. This was insane. Thoughts had been swarming his head ever since he woke up in the strange bed. Too many to even begin sorting through. So he sat patiently and did as Shiro instructed, taking solace in the calming authority.

_Shiro._

He almost chuckled to himself. He’d wanted to learn more about the stranger in the lighthouse. Now he knew his name, his voice, the smell of his bedsheets. All from one stupid mistake. Keith had always been reckless, but he’d never gone this far before.

Shiro moved closer, slowly and tentatively, to touch the underside of Keith’s jaw. He tilted it upwards and brought a wet ball of cotton to the wound. Keith’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat.

Immediately, Shiro retreated, “sorry! Does it sting?” His eyes were filled with sympathy.

_Oh God. _Keith was so screwed. “No,” he somehow maned to choke out and after a moment of deliberation, Shiro continued dabbing at his face.

The overwhelming mix of shock from the situation, and whatever was stirring low in Keith’s gut from Shiro’s proximity, was starting to make him feel lightheaded. He wished that he could explain it away from the accident alone. He remembered all too well what had happened. But he knew the real danger lied in what was yet to come. Keith had no qualms with lying, he was well practised in it by now. But nothing could have prepared him for this. How the hell does he explain this? Allura is going to kill him when he gets back—

_Oh._ His pelt. Panic surged through him like an ice-cold knife. He had left it outside. His only way of going home—or anywhere for that matter. And he had left it.

Shiro had seemed to notice how Keith had begun to squirm, and chuckled softly, “It’s okay, we’re almost done.” The reassurance did nothing to dampen the fire growing in Keith. He needed to leave. He needed to get the hell out of whatever this was and have his pelt on his limbs and sea in his lungs.

As soon as Shiro pulled back to examine his work, Keith bolted upwards. His foot protested maddeningly, but he couldn’t care. The feeling of these strange limbs took time to get used to, and the pain wasn’t making that any easier. But he need out. He had began to rush to the door when he felt a hand clamp around his wrist. The action almost winded him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shiro’s voice was laced with concern, “what are you doing?”

Keith kept his eyes on the door, knowing that one look at Shiro’s face and this would all be over. “I-I, uh, I gotta go…thanks for, everything but…” He tried to pull away but the grip wouldn’t let up. Now he turned to meet Shiro’s eyes, steeling enough resolve. “Let go.” He made sure to keep his voice even and cold.

“Keith,” Shiro frowned and it just about tore Keith in half. “You’re injured, just take it easy and we’ll sort something out.”

Frustration was taking over. He didn’t have time to make him understand. “I need to go, please. I’m sorry for everything but— I have to go…” Keith’s voice lost any intimidation it might have once had and now more resembled a choked out whine.

“Why? Where do you need to go?”

“I..” Keith began, “I need to go…”

He heard a sigh from Shiro, “look, let’s sit down and we’ll talk about this.”

He felt himself being guided back to the sofa. Keith groaned at his own weakness, eyes still on the retreating door. Shiro sat at the other end, obviously trying to give Keith space. The amount of care and compassion he had received in just one night was sickening. Any sense of rebellion or refusal that Keith had been harbouring had surely melted away. Why did Shiro have to be so kind? Why couldn’t he have just left Keith to die on that shore, an idea with growing appeal. But instead Shiro was all soft touches and reassuring smiles that contrasted his gruff exterior. A man of his size and build could be intimidating as hell, not to mention the dark scar that was etched horizontally into the bride of his nose. Keith must’ve been staring, as Shiro shifted a little under his gaze. It was then that he properly noticed the missing limb. Where his right arm should have been, there was a metallic copy in its place.

“It’s okay, you can ask,” Shiro broke the silence, flexing his prosthetic. He smiled reassuringly on the surface, but there was something more to it that didn’t escape Keith’s attention.

“What happened?” Keith was near mesmerised, but careful to keep his voice light. He’d never seen something like this, which wasn’t surprising considering how little he interacted with humans.

“I used to be a fighter pilot,” Shiro began with the cadence of a well rehearsed explanation, “my plane went down, and I lost my arm.” The finality in his voice inferred that this wasn’t open to further questions. In return, Keith nodded slowly. It’s not like he could judge Shiro for being secretive.

Shiro leaned forward slightly, “so what’s the rush?”

Keith pursed his lips, carefully considering his response. When no words came Shiro spoke again. “Look, you’re welcome to stay here and recuperate, as you can see— there’s plenty of room.” The dog that had clearly been neglected for too long jumped into the space between the two. Shiro laughed, patting the animal between its ears. “Kosmo and I sure don’t mind.”

His head was spinning. This was too much. He couldn’t _stay there_, could he? But, it’s not as if he could exactly leave without his pelt. Which he could properly search for the next time Shiro leaves. Faced with no sure alternative, and the sight of Shiro’s smile and generosity, Keith couldn’t help but agree.

***

The potatoes Shiro was boiling hissed under the pot. He had to take into account to double his usual dinner that evening. After he had showed Keith the shower, he had begun to realise how little food he had. It was quite embarrassing that Shiro had settled into eating basically the same thing every day. If he was going to have a guest, he’d have to go into town for some groceries and make an effort. Matt’s mum could probably lend him a few recipes— ah, but then he’d have to mention his houseguest. He dreaded to think of what Matt would have to say about this. It was strange, that much Shiro had accepted, but it was also kind of… nice. He liked having someone around to tend to that wasn’t his dog.

He was just setting the small, round table in the kitchen area when Keith emerged from the bathroom. His hair was damp and clinging to the sharp angles of his cheekbones and he wore nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Shiro’s soul just about departed from his body at the sight. His eyes lingered far too long at Keith’s lean physique. Of course he had seen Keith fully naked the night before, but the severity of the situation demanded his attention elsewhere. He tore his gaze to the table and mentally chastised himself.

“Uh,” His voice croaked, I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” Shiro assured as he started to ransack his closet. Keith, to his credit, didn’t seem in the least bit phased.

It was only when a red-faced Shiro tossed some pyjamas onto his lap that he even acknowledged the situation. “Oh,” he spoke in a monotonous drawl, “sorry.” It was then that he removed his towel right in front of Shiro and slipped on the clothes. Shiro was having heart palpitations. Sure, nudity was a normal part of military life back when they communal locker rooms and showers, but this was completely different. The fact that it was just them two made the circumstances far more… intimate. In a bid to conceal his panic, Shiro darted back to the kitchen and busied himself with dinner, leaving a bizarrely non-plussed Keith to get on with it in private. He groaned to himself, trying to shake away any thoughts that were forming.

Keith sat patiently at the table, reaching down to stroke Kosmo. The sight was so sweet that Shiro found himself recovering from his frenzy as he joined them.

Again, Keith toyed with the food before actually eating it, and Shiro did his best to avoid staring out of curiosity. The silence that permeated wasn’t an uncomfortable one, but the nagging need to learn more about the stranger before him was growing.

“So, Keith,” He spoke and the man in question jumped slightly. “Where are you from?”

“Here.” Keith said.

“Oh, okay. So you must know the area quite well then.”

“I guess.” Keith spoke whilst chewing his food, causing Shiro to recoil slightly.

“Do you have family here then?” Shiro powered on.

“A little.”

Growing frustrated with Keith’s evasiveness, Shiro persisted. “How old are you?” The words came out far less casually than he’d hoped. He must’ve spent too much time avoiding conversation.

“Twenty-two.” Keith raised an eyebrow, his voice carried a challenging undercurrent. “How old are you?”

Shiro almost felt himself sweaty under the newfound intensity of Keith’s gaze. He took a brief sip of his water before answering. “I’m twenty-five.”

Keith regraded Shiro for a moment, scrutinising him before continuing with his meal.

“I went grey early.” Shiro offered as an unprompted explanation.

To that, Keith’s face grew quizzical. But whatever he was thinking, he kept quiet. Relenting, Shiro went quiet as he at his food. Just when he was about to accept the fate of silence, Keith spoke. “Thank you,” his voice was strained, “for letting me stay. I’ll be out soon enough.”

Shiro smiled, “hey, it’s alright. No worries, you can stay as long as you like.” Unable to let go of Keith’s attention whilst he had it, he asked, “by the way, what is it you do?”

“What do I do?” Keith frowned in confusion.

“Oh, you know… what’s your job, or do you have any hobbies, or do you study anything?” Shiro added weakly.

“Ah,” Keith swallowed. “I fish.”

“You fish? No kidding.”

Keith hummed in response, averting his eyes.

In the background, the fire crackled, drawing Kosmo’s attention. Keith rubbed fur side reassuringly and passed him a piece of meat. This stunted conversation only solidified Shiro’s theory that Keith was hiding something. He could respect that. He should respect that. Keith doesn’t owe Shiro anything. But he wished that he’d at least open up a little. Still, it’s not like he could blame him. They were strangers after all.

***

Keith was exhausted. He felt it down to a fundamental level. His bones ached and his eyes were bleary. Spending the entirety of dinner dodging Shiro’s well-intentioned questions had only furthered his lack of energy. He was grateful to be lying leisurely on the couch, stroking Kosmo and sipping at tea whilst he watched the sun begin to set. Blankets were tangled at his feet, he realised with a pang of guilt that Shiro had slept here last night. Keith decided that he’d insist he slept on the couch tonight, it’s not like he usually sleeps in a bed anyways.

Shiro had been perched at the kitchen counter for the past hour, talking to that box of his. Much to Keith’s terror, the box spoke back. Shiro called it a ‘radio’, and apparently he needed it to know about incoming boats or something. Still, Keith was relishing the peace. He could just about feel his eyes shut involuntarily when Kosmo had bolted up. He paced at the door where Shiro now stood, shrugging on a big jacket.

“I’m just taking Kosmo out for a bit, there’s a small stretch of land behind us, we won’t be going far.”

Keith’s heart raced. This was his chance. “I’ll come too,” Keith tried to restrain the urgency in his voice.

Shiro frowned, raising a thick brow at Keith. “You should rest that foot…”

“Please, I need some fresh air.” Keith just about pleaded.

“Well, if you really want to,” Shiro unhooked another giant jacket, “there’s a bench just outside.”

Struggling to stand, but determined to conceal his difficulty, Keith hobbled off the couch and let Shiro help him into the jacket. It was heavy and exceedingly ill-fitting. It near enough drowned him, and Shiro snickered at this.

Despite his protests, Shiro hooked his arm around Keith’s waist and assisted him to the bench by the very shore where all this started. As ridiculous as the jacket appeared, it defended him against the chilling sea spray that hung in the air. The sun had now settled low in the horizon, streaking the sky with brilliant pinks.

“We’ll just be round the back,” Shiro’s voice was peppered with concern, “we won’t be long.” He frowned, obviously reluctant to leave Keith there.

“I’ll be fine,” Keith smiled in return. “Thanks.”

With Kosmo and his owner firmly out of sight, Keith peaked himself off of the bench and started to scan the area. Those pesky limbs were becoming seriously cumbersome as he traced the shoreline. The waves lapped and foamed just inches away from him, further impeding his search. He tried his best to stave off any panic. His pelt wasn’t gone. It was just missing. He’d find it. Only moments had passed and the sun had already sunk below the sea, and Keith was forced to relent. He let out a long sigh as he settled back on the bench, his head hung. A trace of stars was starting to peak through the dark clouds and he felt a single tear of frustration escape his eye. If only his friends could see him now, he laughed bitterly to himself. He’d really screwed up this time.

Not long after he left, Shiro returned, relief evident on his features when he saw Keith slumped on the stone bench. Kosmo ran up to him and licked his cheek. “It’s going to be a cold one tonight.” Shiro spoke into the wind.

Once the two returned inside, Shiro tossed a few more logs onto the fire and straightened up the mess of blankets on the couch. His arms flexed above him as he let out a long yawn. Keith was too troubled to notice himself being guided to the bed. It was only when Shiro draped the covers over him that he remembered his plan. “Wait—” he called to Shiro’s retreating figure. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

Shiro flashed him one of those goddam smiles of his, the kind that caused his deep grey eyes to crease slightly, “not happening. Goodnight, Keith” And that was that.

***

The fire had long burned out when Keith shot awake. In those initial blurry microseconds between slumber and consciousness, he thought it had been the biting cold that had stirred him. But then the strangled groans reverberated through the walls again and Keith was up and throwing back the curtain. It was Shiro, that much he could tell in the dim night. He was twisting violently on the couch, and ragged breaths escaped at a worrying rate. Keith rushed over to his side, panic and concern coursing through his veins. He didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t know what to do. He placed a tentative hand on Shiro’s wrist— a smaller mimicking of Shiro’s earlier gesture.

“Shiro?” Keith asked.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Shiro’s eyes snapped awake and he snatched Keith’s arm, his moonlit face angry and twisted, sweat shining on his forehead. Keith gasped and retreated instinctively, only to be met with the full extent of the man’s strength.   
Paralysed, Keith gulped and met Shiro’s eyes, wild with fear. Then as quickly as it began, Shiro’s grip loosened and his face softened. He looked around himself and pulled away.

“Keith..” his voice was gruff and uncertain, “I’m so sorry, I—”

The relief rushed through Keith and he settled beside Shiro on the couch. “Are you okay?” He whispered.

Shiro, still reeling, shook his head. “I don’t know what happened, I…” he scrubbed his face with his hands, “I was dreaming. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” Keith furrowed his brows in concern, “you had a nightmare?”

Sitting up fully, Shiro chuckled mirthlessly. “I guess so. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Keith smiled at him through the dim lighting. The moonlight filtered through the window and cast a hypnotic glow on Shiro’s silver hair. He looked wild and magical all at once. Keith was torn with concern and the allure of sleep. Though he was assured otherwise, there was still something erratic about Shiro. So they sat there in the dark and silence for some time. Until Shiro’s breathing finally evened out. One of them must’ve pulled the blankets up and over them, because Keith found himself drifting away right there, relishing in the warmth of Shiro’s presence.

***

A series of deafening knocks hauled Shiro out from his slumber. He woke dazed and smothered by blankets and… Keith. He blinked a few times, as still as he could. The morning light confirmed that the body next to him was Keith snoring away. Oh. That’s right. The memory felt like a dream in itself, Shiro being assaulted by yet another nightmare from his past, and a blurry Keith settling beside him.

“Shiro!” _Knock_. “Shiro! Are you alive?” _Knock_. A familiar foghorn of a voice demanded from outside. It was Matt, naturally, no one else would storm his door at this hour. Shiro carefully slipped out from the warmth he and Keith had created, and stumbled towards the door. Just as he was about to open it he paused, the reality of this situation hitting him. It was Sunday. He had missed drinks in the pub last night. And a strange man was sleeping on his couch, wearing his clothes.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now we can get get gooooOoOOoIiing. I’m very excited to continue this, I just think there’s a lot of room to work with Keith and Shiro as individuals, and together.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


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